


acrobatic blood

by nightwideopen



Series: Ace Fics [3]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, No Smut, Tension, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 20:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12638352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: “Thought you’d gone home,” Nick croaks miserably.Louis rolls his eyes.“This is my home, dickhead.”A coming out fic.





	acrobatic blood

**Author's Note:**

> hiii i just wanted to write a nice little coming out fic. as someone who's never come out i kind of wanted to live vicariously through my writing. it's very short but. it took me weeks to write lol please enjoy
> 
> trigger warnings for mentions of body dysphoria? it's not that much but just in case. love you all.
> 
> Title from She's Thunderstorms by Arctic Monkeys. Louis has me on a bit of a kick and suck it and see has become the soundtrack to my writing lately.

Louis kicks his legs out from underneath the dark green blanket, squirming when he registers the layer of sweat that’s made itself a home on his skin. It’s dark, except for the light of the telly flickering on the outside of his eyelids. While the sofa is not the most uncomfortable place that he could’ve fallen asleep, it certainly is the most suffocating. The faded brown leather squeaks every time he moves and the wool blanket is becoming increasingly itchy. He stops moving, opens his eyes, and stares at the crude piece of artwork that’s hanging above the couch. Usually he’d be pleased to see it, but right now it just makes his stomach drop uncomfortably at the reminder of last night.

The silence is interrupted by the muffled sound of an alarm going off deeper in the flat, behind a closed door. The door that usually remains open at night. The door he’d slammed just hours ago in his haste to get as far away as possible. Looking back on how he reacted he feels horribly guilty, but he can still feel the ghost of the tremors that ran up his spine and into his hands from the fear and panic. He shouldn't have to feel guilty about that.

Louis had only gotten back about two hours ago, then, if the alarm is going off. He’d stumbled straight onto the couch and desperately tried to fall asleep, still shaking terribly, tears in his eyes. Storming out in the middle of the night and returning to his own flat only to find the silence deafening and more panic inducing certainly hadn’t helped much. When he got back, his fear had somewhat subsided into anger, and he let it because it’s so much easier to manage. He’s used to being angry. Angry at his body, angry at his brain, angry at the world and himself. Louis can do anger. 

What Louis can’t do is the guilt that’s eating at him anyway, for treating Nick the way he did, no matter how justified he felt in the heat of the moment. He'd smacked Nick away and shouted awful things at him and stormed out of the flat like a _child_.

And speak of the devil, he clears his throat, drawing Louis’ attention away from the words on the wall to the disheveled, red-eyed mess that is his boyfriend. Louis’ heart skips a beat, probably, because that’s what it always does when it comes to Nick.

“Thought you’d gone home,” Nick croaks miserably.

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“This is my home, dickhead.”

The dogs are pawing at Nick’s legs and for the first time that Louis has ever seen, he’s ignoring them. 

“You’re going to be late if you keep standing there like that,” Louis reminds him. 

Nick’s breath hitches on his inhale, like he’s only just stopped crying. “Called in sick. Not really feeling,” he sniffles, “Up for the radio this morning.”

“I can leave if you’d like.”

Louis has the upperhand here, remaining stoic and unaffected, stretching out on the couch as if he’d just had an incredible night’s sleep. Nick looks a right mess, hair in disarray and shirt crinkled at the collar like he’d been tugging on it all night. He tends to do that when he’s anxious, or about to have an asthma attack. As if his shirt has anything to do with the fact that he can’t breathe.

“I think we should talk, actually.”

The silence that ensues is heavy, and puts a substantial crack in Louis’ façade. He can feel the frown pulling at his face. 

“Yeah,” Louis says softly, “Alright.”

Nick nods, finally casting his eyes away from Louis and paying attention to the furballs that are nipping at his bare feet. He silently drifts into the kitchen, bumping into the door frame and tripping over the dogs. Louis’ heart aches, but he can’t forgive Nick just yet, not with the fear and guilt still boiling inside his chest. 

Nick makes them breakfast after feeding the dogs, taking as long as he can possibly get away with on a Thursday morning in October. He lingers on the eggs – cracking them carefully one by one – puts the flame on as low as it goes and pokes at them before they’re even ready to poked. He burns them just a bit, the brown standing out on the bright white plates that Nick keeps in the cupboards across the kitchen because the tea and cereal go above the stove. Louis has told him time and again to reorganise it, but he just refuses. Doesn't like change.

The wooden stools at the kitchen island creak under their uncertain weight, and it reminds Louis of the first time he came over. He hadn’t known how to talk to Nick, how they’d even gotten to this point after years of fruitless bickering. Even then, he hadn’t known how to tell Nick the truth, and it made his skin crawl, knowing he’d never be able to be totally honest, that he’d have to outright lie and be secretive and rid himself of all of the comfort he’d previously known from not having to hide himself from the lads. 

But he'd managed. He'd gotten through that first horribly awkward time and Nick– Nick was brilliant about it. 

“Thanks,” Louis mumbles before filling his mouth with as much eggs as he can manage. He doesn't want to have this conversation. This very conversation and Louis’ fear of having it is half the reason why he lost his head last night. 

“No problem. Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

Before today Louis thought that Nick’s tendency to cut to the chase was something that he liked about him. 

“Not really, no.” 

Clifford whines at Louis’ feet, begging for food even though he _just_ ate. He hadn’t started doing that until they moved in. Pig is a terrible influence. Louis tells her so about ten times a day.

“Well we obviously can’t carry on like this.” It’s accusatory and makes Louis want to keep his secret in the hopelessly impenetrable fortress it's in now. “I’m not angry, Louis. I’m confused and hurt and so are you and we can’t not talk about it, as much as this pains me.”

It’s true. They’re both infamous for their subpar communication skills. 

Louis doesn’t answer, and Nick doesn’t say anything more, so it stays quiet for long enough that they both finish eating. Louis refuses to look up, knows that Nick is staring at him and will continue to do so until he gives in. But it’s setting his teeth on edge, feeling so scrutinised, and it’s making him feel the same kind of horrible as last night. 

“Would you quit fuckin’ staring at me? Making me fucking anxious.”

Nick’s hands fall into his lap. “Would you just _talk_ to me, then? I can’t read your thoughts and I can’t _do_ this. I’m not upset with you! I want to know what I did wrong – because obviously I did – so I don’t do it again! Why can’t you just tell me?”

His voice has reached an exasperated pitch that has the dogs perking up their ears and whining. It’s the same pitch as his doggy voice. They’re probably confused. 

And Louis is torn. Because on one hand he knows that Nick will understand, because he did before. It’ll be easy, like ripping off a bandaid and Nick will be accepting and lovely as he was on that one fateful night where everything was quiet until Louis blurted out that he was transgender. Everything would just be better if he swallowed his pride and was honest about it. But Louis… he’s never _done_ this. It’s always just happened by accident or was obvious and most people either can or can’t tell so they don’t _ask_ and it’s never been relevant or convenient and really, no one gives a shit about this horribly personal thing about him. He’s never had to explain himself due to his stupidity and tendency to panic in the slightest of situations. 

So, on the other hand, he’s terrified. Nick can’t possibly understand. He won’t _get_ it, even if he’s accepting in the way Louis knows he can be. Whether he gets one thing and not the other, or doesn’t understand either, Louis would be devastated. He doesn’t want to answer the probing questions again, or have Nick tiptoe around him and change the way he treats him. And it's just ridiculous, this double standard he has on his own identity.

Nick is staring at him again, and this time Louis is staring right back. And he _wants_ to. He wants to come clean. But he doesn’t want it to be a thing. He doesn’t want it to be a _big deal_. 

So Louis stands up and goes to sit in the garden. It’s cold, cold enough that Louis almost gives up the dramatics and goes back inside. It’s seeping through his track pants and his jumper and really, who decided that it had to be this cold? But Nick follows him out with the itchy green wool blanket from the sofa and wraps it around them both, so it’s fine in the end. Nick puts an arm around Louis as well, and Louis can’t help but fall into him in the way that’s just started becoming a reflex. Nick is warm and solid and so, so loving and Louis doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses him over this.

Louis watches Nick’s leg twitch as he tries not to shake his leg and jostle them. It’s so sickeningly sweet that Louis has to close his eyes. 

“You have to promise not to hate me.”

“What?” Nick’s face is definitely scrunching up, Louis just knows it. “I could never–”

“Just promise me, alright?”

Nick puts his lips to the top of Louis’ head and in that moment Louis just really misses his mum.

“Yeah, alright. I promise.”

And that’s just as well. 

He just doesn’t know how to fucking _say_ it. And he’s starting to get that awful feeling that he had last night. He digs his face deeper into Nick’s chest and hopes that Nick will say that he doesn’t have to know.

“It’s alright,” Nick says instead, “It’ll be okay, I promise.” He sounds like he’s figured it out and suspected all along. But he also sounds painfully clueless. “Nothing you say can make me stop loving you.”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

Louis pulls away, gives Nick a cold hard stare. They’ve both definitely got tears in their eyes. It’s really all too much. How could he do this _now_?

“I…” 

Louis can already feel his heart stuttering, his palms sweating, his entire body reacting to the tragic discomfort of the truth. Louis doesn’t know if he can say it. He’s already gone and gotten choked up just from that, his heart threatening to break free from behind his ribs and fuck off to somewhere far away from here. From this garden of admissions and terror. 

“I’m ace. I'm asexual, alright? _That’s_ why I freaked out last night. I don’t want to have sex with you, I never will.”

Nick doesn’t say anything, but Louis can feel how still he’s gone. 

“That doesn’t mean I won’t ever. Because I know you want to and I _should_ want to but I just… don’t. That’s not important to me. I don’t feel that way about you and I never will. And I wasn’t ready last night because it still makes me uncomfortable sometimes and I'm sorry if I led you on or something because you've been so great and I now I can't even give you this one thing and. Just– There. There, okay? That's it. Do you still _love_ me, now?”

Nick blinks, but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course I do.”

“What?”

Louis is breathing heavy, the weight of his secret caught between them, suspended in time and being held only by Nick’s words. 

“Of course. _Of course_ I still love you, Louis, c’mon.” 

Louis wordlessly gets up, drops the blanket, and goes inside. He doesn’t look to see if Nick is following him, half hopes that he won’t. But the other half is silently begging him to, the whole way to their bedroom. 

Which, it is theirs now. It wasn’t a month ago. A month ago it was Nick’s flat and Nick’s bed and Nick’s dogs and Nick’s life that Louis was wedging his way into. But Nick has made it abundantly clear that everything is _theirs_ now. That Louis fits here. This morning was the first time that Louis had ever heard Nick doubtful about how much of him belongs to Louis. It’s scary that Nick would even question where Louis calls home, scarier that Louis knows just how much of himself Nick has given. Louis hasn’t given as much, has been keeping himself locked tight until today. Nick stuck a screwdriver under the sealed top that Louis has kept on his secrets, popped him open and made an unmanageable mess that Louis doesn't know how to clean.

Time seems to stand still with how long it takes for Nick to enter the bedroom where Louis is sitting on his hands. When he comes in, he sits at the foot of the bed, opposite Louis. Nick doesn't look up, just runs his fingers over the stitches on the duvet.

“I'm sorry that you thought you couldn't tell me.”

“I'm sorry that I’m the way I am,” Louis offers in return.

“No.” Nick fixes Louis with his Sad Eyes. “Don't you dare say that. I love you exactly the way you are and you know that. You don't _owe_ me sex. You don't owe me anything. You are the way you are and that's completely fine. Only my words and actions could've made you feel like I wouldn't understand and I'm sorry for that. You're not broken and you're not fucked up and we don't have to do anything that you aren't comfortable with. Your company is enough for me, alright? More than enough.”

He doesn't start asking questions, or accusing Louis of leading him on. His voice isn't harsh or unreasonable, he hasn't told Louis that _everyone likes sex_ or that _you'll want to one day_. Nick is being totally and completely accepting, and understanding, and being so, so _Nick_ that Louis can barely wrap his head around it. How did he get so lucky?

And it shouldn't be hard to believe. Nick is there when Louis cries over his body, when his voice sounds too high, when his mannerisms are anything less than masculine. Nick is there when Louis takes his T, and hates his scars, and can't bear to look at himself. Nick has been there for all that, why should this be any different?

Maybe Louis thought that sex was something Nick expected eventually, or that even through all the shit Nick saw some light at the end of the tunnel. Could Louis really think that little of him?

Louis finds himself closing the distance between them, winding his arms around Nick’s shoulders and forcing Nick onto his back. This way, Louis can tuck his face into Nick’s neck and Nick can wrap his arms all the way around Louis’ slight waist and hold him close. 

“You're such a whirlwind,” Nick says, “I wish you could stop for a moment and see what I see.”

They both know that Louis is never going to see himself in the same fluorescent light, but the sentiment resonates all the same. Louis often wishes that Nick wasn't so hard on himself, that he didn't come home going over all the things he said wrong on the radio, or didn't beat himself up when he forgets to buy milk, or walk the dogs.

“I love you,” is all Louis can manage to whisper, because timing has never mattered to either of them.

Nick breathes in sharply, his arms going tighter and his nose pressing hard against the back of Louis’ head.

“Love you, too. You're perfect.”

Louis snorts. “Perfect to you, maybe.”

Their smiles stretch across each other's skin.

“And that's all that matters, isn't it?”

“Suppose so,” Louis has to agree, lending a soft kiss to Nick’s neck.

And as if they can sense the moment, the dogs come rushing in, propelling themselves onto the bed and attacking Nick and Louis with kisses of their own. 

Nick uses his doggy voice and scratched their bellies and whines when they go berserk trying to protect Louis from being tickled. It's perfect, really. And Louis feels truly safe here, like he can be himself. He feels at home. 

“Think we should watch _Bridesmaids_ to celebrate,” Nick says when they've caught their breath.

Louis hits him with a pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are very very VERY appreciated!


End file.
